Rogue Nights

by Ainsley Booth

  Then he steamed back across the parking lot, rage roaring in his ears, clouding his vision, fire rippling white-hot behind his eyes.

  “You want to call someone a whore, try me first,” he seethed, reaching over the chain link to wrap his hand around the leader’s throat. The man’s megaphone clattered to the ground as he grabbed Tyler’s wrist. He barely felt it—barely heard the other protestors screaming at him to stop, barely knew anything but fury and sorrow and a careening hunger for violence.

  Then he heard his name in Margot’s voice, that special way she said it, each syllable given equal weight, the end pronounced and deliberate. Her hand was on his shoulder, and he released the man on a wave of sickening regret and self-loathing.

  What had he done?

  What had he been about to do?

  He turned his back on all of it, on the clinic, on the protestors, on the hollow-faced teenage girl, on the bright-eyed woman he’d thought might save him.

  He’d given in to the chaos always nipping at his heels, let the anger constantly simmering in the pit of his stomach boil up and over. He could play the mild-mannered loner all his life, but he’d never outrun the truth. He was his father’s son. Nothing and no one could change that.

  He stormed out of the parking lot and down the alley, crossing intersections and taking turns until he was so lost he knew no one from the clinic could find him.

  This whole harebrained clinic escort idea of his was bullshit, anyway. Margot was the kind of person who belonged there. She understood the politics, followed the way the laws changed, gave him that spiel about Capitol Hill and Election Day and women’s bodies. She’d thought, decided, and acted—not blundered in off the street because one of the protestors pissed her off.

  That was exactly what he’d done. He knew fuck-all about abortion, had never knocked anyone up, never even had sex without a condom. Then one day he sat at the red light outside the clinic watching a woman shrink from the grisly picture of a fetus thrust in her face and got so het up he flicked on his left turn signal, pulled into the parking lot and told the protestor to mind his own damn business. He walked the woman the rest of the way to the door, where Ayana handed him a fluorescent-pink vest and a sign-up form.

  He wasn’t noble. He didn’t have big ideas. He barely understood half of what Margot’s friends talked about, and he sure as hell couldn’t have given an opinion on what he did pick up. He worked hard, kept his head down, hoped that discipline and routine and sheer exhaustion would keep his old, gnawing anger under control.

  He thought volunteering at the clinic helped, until now. He liked being helpful. Looked forward to spending long hours in service of someone other than himself. Enjoyed being a source of comfort, or safety, or kindness. Imagined some of that ugly rage fading every time he calmly turned his back on those nasty signs and hateful words. Hoped it might go away completely if he was patient and diligent and did his best.

  Wrong.

  He was just a hot-headed thug, ready for the chance to make those smug-ass protestors feel as small and scared as he’d felt his whole childhood.

  He tugged his cap lower on his forehead as he picked directions at random, the often-empty city sidewalks seeming more abandoned than usual beneath the uneasy winter clouds. He walked until the blood pounding in his ears subsided to a dull hum, and his whole body trembled in adrenaline’s aftermath. He had no idea where he was, and the way the sun drooped in the sky told him he’d been on his feet well into the afternoon. He took off his hat, smoothed his hair, put it back on. Then he ducked into the first shop he saw and approached the register.

  “Know where I can find a liquor store around here?”

  5

  This wasn’t the worst idea she’d ever had, Margot reasoned as she parked in front of Tyler’s trailer.

  Wasn’t the best, either.

  The lights were on, turning curtained windows into greenish-glowing squares, and his truck was parked outside, so he must have gone back to get it after the clinic closed. After she’d waited for him for two hours in the parking lot. After she and Ayana tried his cell phone so many times he finally switched it off.

  Thinking of Ayana, she fired off a quick text. I’m at his place. He’s here. Haven’t spoken to him yet. Cross fingers for me.

  Phew, Ayana shot back, followed by, Good luck.

  She’d need it. She’d tracked down a man who clearly didn’t want to be found. She cringed as she remembered bumping over the long, rutted road to the Morses’ ranch house, then summoning all of her courage to walk up the path and ring the bell. The dark, silent surroundings made it feel much later than six o’clock on a Saturday, as had the surprise and concern on the face of the young man who answered the door. His expression soured when she asked where she might find Tyler Olsen, and as she reversed back into the road to follow his directions she had the sinking feeling she’d just gotten Tyler into big trouble.

  No more trouble than she’d be in with the man himself, she supposed. But determination had brought her here, and determination would take her to his door. She had to assure herself he was all right after what happened at the clinic. Had to assure him that no one blamed him, in case he was worried. And if after that he still wanted her to go, she’d leave him alone.

  She made the short walk to his front door under the watchful gaze of a border collie. When she knocked the dog tilted its head, perhaps equally curious about how this might turn out.

  Tyler only took a few seconds to open the door, but she concocted so many negative scenarios in that time that when she finally laid eyes on him she almost burst out apologizing.

  “Hi,” she managed instead.

  He just stared at her. She stared back. Mussed blond hair, rolled-up plaid sleeves exposing his white thermal shirt, black socks beneath frayed denim hems.

  “Can I come in?”

  He stepped aside, and she figured that was as good an invitation as she would get.

  The trailer’s spartan, tidy interior was a study in Eighties décor, lots of wood-panel accents, green plaid curtains that matched the upholstery on the banquette. The windows were sizeable, though, and she bet it was light and airy when the sun shone. Muddy boots lined the floor beneath a coat hook sagging with hats and hoodies and jackets. A stack of textbooks occupied one end of the short counter. She smelled fresh coffee and clean flannel and the crisp-air scent of the man standing next to her.

  Then she spotted the unopened bottle of cheap whiskey in the center of the table.

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay. Are you?”

  He lifted a shoulder, then motioned her over. They took seats at opposite ends of the banquette.

  “Everyone at the clinic is worried about you. No one’s angry – you did what we all wanted to. That Missouri group hightailed it back to their cars right after you left, so there won’t be any repercussions. Nothing for you to feel bad about, if you do.”

  He exhaled roughly. “I appreciate you driving up here, but this—us two—it ain’t gonna work.”

  “I didn’t say anything about us. I asked about you.”

  “I’m fine. The end.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. Would you like me to leave?” She stood, steeling her expression against the sadness swelling in her throat. She knew this might finish tonight, but it still hurt.

  He ran his hand back and forth through his hair, big body shifting uneasily.

  “I don’t want you to leave,” he said finally. “But I don’t see any point in you staying.”

  “Why not?” she asked, dropping back into her seat and reaching across the table to take his hand.

  He trailed his thumb over her knuckles, slowly shaking his head as he studied their joined hands.

  “My dad’s a real piece of shit, and if my mom hadn’t OD’d when I was a kid she probably wouldn’t be any better. My old man’s a nasty drunk, Margot. Violent. Vicious. I’ve tried my whole life to turn out different, but this morning at the clinic I was just the same. I
know this thing with Rob has got you down, but you can do better than me. I’m no good. Not for you, not for anyone.”

  She shook her head, tightening her grip. “You’re wrong. Today you saw a grown man being cruel to a teenage girl in one of the most vulnerable moments in her life. You lost control. That doesn’t make you a bad person. That doesn’t make you like your father.”

  He dropped his head even lower, broad shoulders bowed over the table. She watched him intently, straining to get a lead on what he thought, how he felt.

  “You’re gonna break my heart,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “One day you’ll wake up and realize I’m a know-nothing nobody from the ass end of nowhere. You’ll want what I could never give you, and you’ll break my heart when you leave.”

  “Tyler,” she breathed, edging along the banquette to put her hand on his back. “What do you think I want? Money?”

  “Someone smart. Educated. Who knows about the world. Who thinks about things. Someone you can talk to about… complicated stuff.”

  “Someone like my ex?”

  He lifted his eyes to hers, and she hoped he was finally beginning to see what she did.

  “A couple of years ago I would’ve agreed with you. I thought I wanted someone who put a lot of thought into social justice and activism. Someone exactly like myself. And where did it get me?” She raised her palms. “Stuck in a lease with a guy who used to be one of my closest friends, and now I can’t stand him.

  “I’ve figured out what I want,” she explained, tugging Tyler’s hands into her lap. “It’s not a degree or shelves full of books or a pile of letters you’ve written to your senators. I want to be with you because you don’t just sit around thinking about change—you create it, without hesitation. Every time you open a car door outside the clinic, every time you offer your hand to a nervous patient, every time you guide a woman away from the hatred and ignorance clamoring on the other side of the fence, you’re making this crappy world a tiny bit better. You’re selfless, Tyler. Selfless and caring and just really good, and I’m falling for you whether you like it or not. I can’t promise we’ll be together forever, but I can promise you’re everything I want, and I’ll do my absolute best to be who you want too.”

  “You’re already who I want,” he replied, squeezing her hands. “But not who I deserve.”

  “Tyler,” she chided, sorrow welling in her throat at the thought of this strong, complicated man having such a low view of himself. “Why do you say that?”

  Blue eyes bored into hers, begging for understanding. “I try to hold it together, but I got a lot of anger in me. You saw it today. Sometimes it just takes over. I can’t stop it.”

  “You did stop it. You let that man go.”

  “But I never should’ve grabbed hold of him in the first place.”

  She sat back against the banquette, studying him, his brows drawn together in pained turmoil. She slid the bottle of whiskey between them and tapped the unbroken seal.

  “Is this the sign of a man with no self-control?”

  “I still bought it,” he muttered.

  “And sat alone in this room, stared at it, and didn’t drink it.”

  He said nothing. Dropped his gaze to his hands, his expression miserable.

  She reached for his hands again, threaded their fingers with the same effortless fit as in those unmoving moments in her kitchen. Reluctantly, he looked up.

  “You’re not a bad person,” she repeated. “You’re not an out-of-control monster or a deranged, violent thug. You got angry, and then you pulled yourself together. You’re not perfect. But you’re doing your best.”

  He exhaled, and all of the tension in his body seemed to drain out of him. His shoulders sagged, the lines in his face eased, even his grip on her hand relaxed.

  “I’m doing my best,” he agreed, a little hoarsely. “And I swear I’ll do my best for you, Margot. If you’ll let me.”

  Warm, tremulous excitement clogged her throat and burned the corners of her eyes. “Of course,” she whispered. “Of course.”

  She leaned in and kissed him then, a sweet press of lips, a shared beginning. He cupped her jaw, rough palm against soft skin, and as he deepened the kiss she felt his hunger. The same urgent need bloomed in her chest.

  She parted her lips and slipped her tongue into his mouth. He responded with a groan, tugging her onto his lap, wedging her knees on either side of his thighs. Two layers of denim couldn’t hide the size of the erection pressing between her legs, and her heart fluttered as excitement replaced uncertainty. He was a big man, so she figured he’d be large, but even her imagination couldn’t compete with reality.

  She pulled back, sucking on his lower lip before meeting his eyes.

  “Take me to bed, cowboy.”

  The man knew how to take orders. He threw her over his shoulder and she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to steady herself, then let go as she realized she could trust his strong arms. He toed open the door at the end of the trailer and set her down on the unmade, blue-sheeted bed, then climbed on top of her on his hands and knees, pressing her onto her back.

  She plucked his shirt buttons open while he nipped at her mouth, along the underside of her chin and down her neck. He stopped at the lowest edge of her U-neck top, his nose brushing her skin, his breath warming the space between her breasts.

  She arched her back, encouraging him lower, but he rolled over onto his back and propped up on his elbows.

  “Get undressed. I want to see you.”

  She pushed to her feet. Shucked off her boots. Pulled her shirt over her head. Undid her jeans and slowly slipped them off. The lust burning unabashedly in his blue eyes made her sex clench and her nipples harden, so that when she unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor, her arousal was evident in the taut peaks of her breasts.

  He looked her up and down, up and down again. Licked his lips.

  She clambered back on the bed, making quick work of the buttons on his shirt, then urging the long-sleeved thermal he wore beneath over his head. She gripped the button on his jeans, then paused to admire what she’d already uncovered. Tyler’s body was raw and muscular, shaped by work instead of a personal trainer. Contoured arms, flat stomach, golden-blond hair gleaming across his chest.

  He shifted beneath her hands and she got back to work, freeing the button, lowering the zipper, greedily plunging her hand into his fly and squeezing him through his boxers. He gasped, and she tugged off his jeans, arousal now throbbing impatiently between her legs.

  He pushed into a sitting position, giving her a fine view of the play of muscle in his stomach. She was on her knees over his lap and he brought his mouth to her nipple, one hand cupping her breast, the other slipping inside her panties to probe her wet, aching slit.

  She moaned, and it came from a deep, primal place, somewhere she hadn’t accessed in a very long time. She buried her fingers in his hair, pinning his head to her breast, already trembling on the brink of an unwelcome, premature climax.

  Suddenly he jerked back, eyes wild with panic. “Shit. I don’t have any protection.”

  “Oh, no.” She slapped her hand over her eyes. She should’ve guessed. If there was ever a man who lacked the optimism to keep a wallet stash of condoms, it was Tyler. She had some at home, but…

  She snapped her fingers. “Go look in my bag. Ayana threw some condoms in there as a joke a few weeks ago. They’ll be at the bottom somewhere.”

  “You want me to look in your bag?” he asked uncertainly.

  “Actually I want you to do something a hell of a lot more intimate, but that’s the first step.”

  He guided her off his lap, then staggered out the door.

  “Be naked when you come back,” she called, stripping off her soaking panties and flopping against his pillow. The bed smelled like him, shampoo and shaving cream and hard-working male flesh. She inhaled deeply, resisting the urge to reach between her legs and raise the stakes. She planned to save every scrap of her pl
easure for him.

  He wandered back in, squinting at the expiration date on the foil packet in his hand, epic cock preceding the rest of him by several inches.

  He looked up with a smile. “We’re okay.”

  Okay was one of the limpest words she could apply to this situation, but she just smiled in return.

  He eased down onto the mattress, rolled the latex over his erection, then repositioned himself above her.

  “You okay like this?”

  That underwhelming word again. “Great. Excellent.”

  He slipped testing fingers between her legs. She spread thighs glistening with her arousal, giving him all the reassurance he needed.

  “You’re sure this is what you want?” he asked again, eyes searching hers, a fine line of concern splicing his brow.

  She slid her hands to the tight ass she’d silently admired for three months. “I want you, Tyler. All of you. Now.”

  He pushed inside and she gasped at the size of him, the delicious intrusion, the tension as long-unused muscles stiffened and then relaxed.

  He trembled above her, his breathing ragged, blue eyes big and attentive. She reluctantly admired his self-control even as it irritated her. She didn’t want his good manners right now. She wanted to feel his strength. His power. His uninhibited male hunger.

  “Don’t be gentle,” she told him, beginning to rock her hips. “Show me how badly you need this.”

  He gave her a desperate look, then screwed his eyes shut and swore under his breath. In an instant he tripled the pace, tripled the friction, tripled the agonizing, tantalizing waves of pleasure rippling along her body.

  She clamped her thighs against his hips, hands on his ass urging him deeper, harder, even as some part of her longed to delay the inevitable and make this last forever.

  That notion proved impossible almost as soon as it materialized. She felt feverish, sweat beading on her forehead, her lungs heaving in a frantic reach for oxygen. She looped her arms around Tyler’s neck and linked her ankles behind his back, drawing him in as tightly as she could, demanding as much of his flesh as she could get.